Mass Infection
by robokorean
Summary: After a mysterious virus wipes out the crew of the SSV Normandy, an injured Tali'Zorah - the only survivor - must find a way off the Citadel. Just what the hell happened up there in the stars?


Chapter One: Homesick

Tali'Zorah nar Rayya stood alone and defenceless. Tali was a quarian, and for a quarian, being alone was not only out of the ordinary, their fleet being as overpopulated as it was, but also highly unsettling. Terrifying, even. Once upon a time, Quarians were a proud and prosperous race of peaceful aliens, who's empire was the product of great advancements in technology. They where the three-fingered driving force behind many scientific breakthroughs that are used by all alien races in citadel space. However, their unrivalled grasp of the fundamentals behind artificial intelligence proved eventually to be their undoing, as in their infinite wisdom and yet reckless actions, they created the murderous sentient machines known as Geth. Originally intended for slave labour, the Geth eventually got smart, began asking questions, 'feeling'. Their quarian masters panicked, and after holding a planet-wide council to establish their fears, attempted to eliminate them all simultaneously. The Geth however, programmed to foresee danger, rose up against their creators and drove them from their home world in a bloody war the peaceful quarians where ill-prepared for. After exiling their masters, they the began constructing their own spaceships, and set out to conquer the galaxy. The Geth uprising spread across all of Citadel Space. They attacked human, turian, salarian and asari settlements, and eventually, after the Citadel council stepped in and unleashed an armada against them, where driven back behind the Perseus Veil and into the treacherous reaches of dark space, never to be seen again. The causalities from the Geth uprising, however, where many, and the quarians, as a result, where shunned by all other races in the galaxy.

As no other planet was suitable for their skin and oxygen requirements, and asylum was granted by no other alien race, they where forced to travel the galaxy on sterile ships, a collective of massive freighters and smaller cruisers known as The Great Quarian Flotilla. Over generations, living in ultra-clean spaces withered away their immune systems, forcing them to constantly wear protective suits and helmets. For thousands of years, no one has seen a quarians real face, their mirrored visors their only outward projection of their personality.

Tali's visor, however, was steamed up with her heavy breathing from the anxiety she felt in this place. And to make matters more unsettling, she was standing alone in a location she felt was all too familiar. She wasn't sure when, but she had definitely been there before. Everything about the place; the walls, the garbage cans, the faint smell of stale liquor, seemed to bring back memories of an event that had happened in the past, and had caused her great distress. A tapping noise of metal hitting concrete sounded from in front of her. She looked up, and trembled as a turian, flanked by two robotic bodyguards, approached her.

'So... do you have it?' he asked, as he sleazily eyed her up.

She swallowed hard.

'Where's the Shadow Broker?' she replied 'where's Fist?'

'They'll be here... shortly'.

He caressed her arm, his small yellow eyes, which seemed to be glowing, descending further south until his hand was just inches away from her right hip. She pushed it away.

'No way. The deals off'.

The turian eyed her with shocked curiosity.

'Oh? And I thought we where going to be friends, you and I'.

'Friends?'

She looked warily past him to his robotic subordinates, guns at the ready, stood idly behind him.

'I am leaving, right now'.

But she couldn't move. Her body was paralysed. She tried to inch away, but the glowing eyes of the turian pierced into her mind and prevented her from moving a muscle. She was frightened, and her head began hurting. Confusion. A biotic power, maybe? Something was definitely wrong. The turians face was distorted. His features were almost moving around. It was like watching a face on a monitor with juice spilled over it.

'What a shame. And I was so looking forward to… getting acquainted with you'

He pulled a sick grin, and began laughing maniacally as his eyes stopped glowing and turned pale, and his face began bubbling and swelling up with boils and pores. They popped, sending purple puss all over her. She screamed as the turian's face morphed into the horrific, monstrous visage of her deceased Captain, John Shepard. She squirmed, and was unable to breathe as he moved towards her, his hands on her neck. They tightened as he continued to laugh. He stopped laughing and opened his mouth wider, revealing huge, yellow, razor-sharp teeth, which slowly and forcefully broke through her protective visor, to her face.

The quarian screamed and awoke. She was lying in a hospital bed, drenched in sweat. A low, rhythmic humming sound in her ear. She winced as it caused her mild pain. She glanced to her right. There was a huge apparatus at the side of her bed, beeping and humming, a stream of medical jargon being spoken softly by an integrated VI program. Tubes and wires where connected to sockets in the protective suit covering her arms and chest. She felt terrible. Like she had caught some nasty quarian strain of influenza and was awaiting a slow and painful death. She touched a wire sticking out of her arm, and then looked hazily about her surroundings. She immediately recognised the interior of the med clinic on the upper wards of the Citadel from her last visit. That time she was nursing a gunshot wound. But even then she didn't feel as uneasy as she did now. Nevertheless, she laid back and tried to relax.

A beeping sound as the door slid open and Dr. Chloe Michel entered. A smile spread across the red-haired doctors face when she realized the quarian had awoken. Tali sat up in her bed.

'Good to see you awake instead of thrashing around in you're sleep. You must have been having one hell of a nightmare' she winked.

Tali looked up at the doctor for a few seconds, then lay back down onto her pillow.

'Was it... about the Normandy again?'

She closed her eyes and sighed.

'Yes... the Commander... Wrex... Joker... they are in my dreams every night now. I see their faces whenever I close my eyes. I wonder… am I _ever_ going to get over this?'

'These things usually take time' she replied 'the most important thing you have to do right now is rest up. Sleep heals everything'

The doctor smiled and walked over to Tali's bedside, where she sat down and began reading up on the quarian's status on the medical console. The quarian had been here in Dr. Michel's clinic for nearly a whole week now since the incident aboard the Normandy, suffering from a minor case of the common cold. She had contracted the illness thanks to the damage her helmet had sustained back on the ship, allowing all manner of airborne viruses making their way through the vessel to infiltrate the quarian's tender immune system.

'Well... the good news is that you're going to be okay. You're lucky. The common cold has killed countless humans in the past. I am very surprised – and of course, relieved – that a quarian battled it so successfully'.

'The meds that are administered before our pilgrimage should have done their part. If they haven't… I guess I'm just lucky, like you say'.

'Indeed. Just make sure you don't damage you're visor again – some people are only lucky once'.

'I will try to keep that in mind, doctor'.

The doctor smiled.

'Tali, how many times have I told you? You can call me Chloe. And I have some good news for you' she announced, a more positive vibe coming from her as she suddenly rose and stood over the quarian, smiling.

'I have set you up with an appointment, with the asari Consort here on the Citadel. Her name is Sha'ira. She has her own private chambers over on the Presidium. Think of it as a... counselling service'.

'Do you… think she might be able to help?'

'I don't think it can hurt to see her. She is supposed to be very good when it comes to helping people overcome bad ordeals. There is usually a long waiting list. People can wait nearly a whole year – maybe more – before they are allowed to see her. But Captain Anderson pulled a few strings her and there... and now you're at the top of that list' she smiled.

'Thank you' Tali replied, humbled.

A small beep sounded from Dr. Michel's belt. She looked down at it.

'I'm sorry but I have to go'

'You don't have time to stay and talk?'

'I'm sorry, Tali. Later today I'll come back, and we can have a chat about _normal_ things for a change. But this is urgent'

'Bad news?'

She sighed.

'Apparently a man named Conrad has attempted suicide again. Looks bad this time'

The doctor looked worried at the device on her belt, reading the text that slid across the miniature screen. She looked at the quarian, and put on a fake smile again to reassure her.

'Get some rest, Tali. By tomorrow, you should be completely recovered and will be able to go and see the Consort'.

'See you later, Chloe' Tali said quietly as Dr. Michel dashed out of the room.

She tried to go to sleep, all the while wondering if she would be able to leave the clinic prematurely, so as to avoid having to dream again. She didn't want another dream. But when she tried to move, the wires in her arms reminded her that the medi gel wasn't quite finished pumping into her blood system. Reluctantly, she closed her eyes and tried to think of something pleasant. Of being back on the Flotilla. Home.

The Citadel Security hangar bay was completely cordoned off from the public. Droves of soldiers where moving back and forth, carrying equipment and various pieces of apparatus to the hulking wreckage of the SSV Normandy, looming like a decaying iridian whale over them. The intercom boomed with orders as the turian head of C-Sec, Executor Pallin, co-ordinated the operation from the command overlook above.

Captain David Anderson looked on as small groups of soldiers and scientists boarded the vessel, returning minutes later with large chambers on wheels, trundling them down a ramp from the entrance to the ground. The chambers where carrying segments of a huge organic life form that had been found within the ship.

Ambassador Udina approached the Captain.

'Anderson, this joint military and scientific operation is costing us more credits than I would desire'

His gaze on the Captain shifted over to a small band of guards ushering a group of disappointed journalists out of the entrance to the hangar.

'And do you know how hard it is to keep prying reporters away from here? That confounded Emily Wong woman has caused me no end of grief'

'It's only temporary, Ambassador' Anderson replied' 'if we're going to find out what happened aboard this ship, these scientists must carry out these studies'

'Hmmm... And what about these soldiers? Why are they here?'

'For backup, Ambassador. If Tali is telling the truth – and I don't doubt for a second that she is – we may need them if things here... get out of hand'

'So... you still believe that this... 'thing', whatever the hell it is, infected Shepard and his crew, and turned them all into…'

He looked down at a piece of paper he was clutching. A report.

'Brain-dead... and I quote, ''cannibals?''

'I believe it's the only plausible explanation, yes. I'm sure by now you're aware the organism has been mostly removed from the Normandy, save for the odd bits and pieces, which the scientists are still trying to clean up'.

'The whole thing?'

'They had to break it up into smaller pieces, as you can see, but yes. What they have so far is up in P.S.R.F.'.

'I see. Well, I trust you will continue handling this operation with the utmost care? The members of the council are already breathing hard down my neck about this... incident'

'I assure you, Ambassador, we will get to the bottom of this. And I will do it as discreetly as possible'

'Very well. Carry on then. I'll be in my office if you need me'

Udina left.

Anderson nodded and watched as the Ambassador left the hangar bay. He then turned his attention back on the operation before him. He sighed. How in the world had it ever come to this? He wondered why, of all the ships out there scouring the Traverse, it had to be the Normandy this bizarre alien entity had chosen to destroy.

He thought about Shepard. About killing him. About how sick he had felt as he pulled the trigger and watched his old friend take a bullet right through those once piercing blue eyes, and how he had fallen to the ground, limp and lifeless as a dead varren.

But he hated thinking about it. He hated himself for doing it. For killing Shepard. So he stopped. Grieving and guilt would have to wait. All Anderson cared about right now was the future. The future of the Citadel. The future of his own life. For he knew, deep down in his gut, something bad was going to happen. Sooner or later, things weren't going to be quite so calm.

The next day, Tali was finally up and out of her bed and ready to leave the med clinic. She was stood with Dr. Michel near the entrance.

'Thank you, Chloe. I don't know what I would do if you weren't around. Not all doctors are as compassionate as you when it comes to my kind'.

'Well... I like you, Tali' the doctor smiled 'you are a very charming young girl, and an absolute pleasure to stitch up'

They both laughed, reminiscing over the gun shot wound Michel had patched up on the quarian just days prior to the 'Normandy Incident'

'I will try to be careful, I promise'

'Glad to hear it. You ARE going to go and see Sha'ira... right?'

'Of course. If you say it will help stop the nightmares, its worth a shot. That alone is worth something. Thank you once again for setting me up with the appointment'

'Not at all. You're far more deserving than some salarian business man in need of certain... favours'

They both laughed again.

'Goodbye, Chloe' Tali said softly, then turned and headed out into the wards.

As she walked through the crowds of people, she began to feel uncomfortable. Everybody was looking at her, eyeing her up. Some even whispering to their companions whilst looking threateningly in her direction. She felt thankful the visor covered her face. At least they didn't know she was staring right back at them. That was a luxury all quarians had. They could pretend to be oblivious, while in reality they were always fully aware.

When she was with Shepard it was okay – she had an Alliance soldier at her side. Nobody was going to mess with her then. Back then, there was a constant feeling of relative safety in being in the company of a Spectre, and one that made her pilgrimage all the more comfortable. Now, she was alone. A lone quarian wandering the Wards had the potential to attract a lot of unnecessary trouble. She realized that. She briefly considered running back to the med clinic, so she could sit with her friend Dr. Michel, and feel safe again. But she had to stay strong. If anything, she had earned the right to, after emerging from the ashes of the 'Normandy Incident' the only survivor. She had to stay focused. And get the hell off the Citadel as soon as possible.

She had no intention whatsoever of visiting Shi'ira. Counselling service? She hadn't the time or the patience for anything like that. An asari getting through to a quarian's psyche was about as likely as a krogan becoming soul mates with a salarian. No, her immediate plan was to head to Chora's Den, first. Urdnot Wrex had once told her some of the best star pilots in the galaxy could be found there. However, she was also told to watch her step, as the place could be a little rough, though she had done a fairly good job of taking care of herself before joining Shepard's crew. Aside from a gunshot wound, the whole affair had gone rather smoothly – she discovered that she was better at dealing with the scumbags of the Citadel – namely Fist – than she would ever had imagined. Furthermore, she had assorted skills up her sleeve, skills that could keep her safe in practically any given situation. Survival skills. Shepard had taught her much while he was still alive.

When Tali arrived at Chora's Den, she immediately looked up to see that the roof was still under re-construction. When the Normandy crashed onto the Citadel, its nose had piercing right through the ceiling of the gentleman's club and nearly flattened the circular bar below. The only thing stopping it from crushing the patrons to death was the wing span of the ship, clawing on to the roofs of two other structures at either side of the club. Apparently, it had taken three cranes to move it out of the place, and into a secure location, in one of the C-Sec hangar bays. A fairly obvious place to dump a desecrated vessel, and easy to breach, even if sealed.

Tali glanced around the club, scanning the bar area and the walkways surrounding it. Nothing in the galaxy would have ever suggested such a thing as a ship crashing through the ceiling had even happened. Dancers where still gyrating sexually in front of hordes of salivating humans and aliens alike; various disgraced officers where sat at tables, looking miserable and drunk; retired military types where threateningly glaring at people; and a krogan barged through a small crowd of salarians, armed to the teeth with enough firepower to nuke a small colony, grunting 'Outta my way! Stupid amphibians...'

She sighed.

'Nothing has changed'.

Across from the entrance, where the quarian was still stood, a young human male was watching. He was intrigued as to why she was even here on the citadel – a quarian wandering the wards was even rarer than a krogan sitting in a library on the Presidium. He took a sip of his drink and turned his back to her, propping up the bar and looking as cool and unapproachable as he possibly could. Tali smiled. The perfect candidate for a shifty pilot.

Tali slowly ventured into the crowd, gently pushing her way past droves of drunken Citadel inhabitants, apologizing in earnest so as not to get her helmet blown off by an angry, intoxicated mob. When she made it to the bar, the man was still staring at her. She ignored him and signalled to the bartender, a fat human male. He looked at her, intrigued by her presence.

'Well now, we don't see many quarians these days. Wasn't it you folk who made those goddamn flashlight headed thingies?'

'Umm... yes, that would be correct. But if you don't mind I'd rather not talk about that… here'

'I bet you wouldn't. So, what'll it be?'

'I'm not here to drink; I require a pilot. I was told some of the best could be found here'

'Skipping town, huh?'

'Something like that'

'Well, I'm afraid I can't help you, darling. Pilots around here usually keep to themselves. They are mostly smugglers, and ones who have a list of preferred clientele, and don't much care to pick up total strangers. Strange times, these. Even for a smuggler. You can never be too cautious'

The young human male to the side of her was now even more intrigued. He downed his glass of whiskey and winked at the bartender, a sign that he wanted another right away. While the fat man was busy knocking him up a scotch, he edged over to the quarian. He spoke to her in a slurred tongue.

'So... you need a pilot, lady quarian?'

He sounded slimy. Like a man you knew immediately not to trust. And he stunk of alcohol and cigarette smoke. He had a voice that wasn't too dissimilar from Joker's, only it was lighter… and slurred. Tali had always been told never to talk to dangerous-looking people by her father, but she felt that here on this morally ambiguous metropolis that she could make the odd exception. Plus, her pilgrimage meant it was often a necessity to keep an open mind when it came to strangers. This particular stranger certainly fit the bill. He was quite short – shorter than Tali – and thin, with long black hair tied up into a ponytail, a slight beard and large brown eyes with thick, dark eyebrows. He was wearing a long black coat and had a large briefcase nestled at his feet, she observed curiously.

'I do' she replied 'know of any?'

'As a matter of fact, I do. You be looking at one. In fact, you be looking at the best. Ain't no one gonna' tell you different, nope'.

'Is that so? And who might you be?'

'Name's Jack. Jack Furrik, at you're service. I been stuck on this god dammit space slum for nearly a whole month. Been looking for work, aint found nothin' as a' yet. People here tend to be too damn tight with them credits'

'So I have learned. And… what class of ship do you pilot, Mr. Furrik?'

'WELL... I got my hands on an Alliance class Dreadnought' he winked 'Big mother crusher, she be. Call her 'Matilda', after my first love'

He took a sip of his drink and looked up at the ceiling, as if he was reminiscing something. He immediately shot his gaze back to her, a sinister, toothy grin spreading across his face.

'Wanna see her? She's in the spaceport, docking bay two'

'That's very... sweet' she replied flatly 'about you're first love, I mean'

She shifted uncomfortably. This was turning out to be easier than she imagined, but the man was making her feeling uncomfortable, she couldn't deny that.

'Yes, I would love to see it. So… how long before we can get off the Citadel?'

'That all depends, lady quarian. Standard rate an' all… dependin' on where the destination be…depends on how far out you wanna go, ya know. And since them quarian folk sail 'cross most o' the galaxy all the time and can be a pain in my ass to track down... I say _you_ pay Jack seventy thousand credits, all in 'vance, then we fly'

'Seventy? I don't have that much'

'Then I'm sorry, lady quarian. No pay off, no take off'

'Well... I can get you're credits the minute we arrive on the Flotilla. My father is on the Admiralty Board, a very important man. He will pay you anything you want, if it will guarantee my safe return'

'Maybe he is... and maybe he isn't. Jack don't know what Jack don't see'

Tali looked at the pilot, confused.

'Means no, still'

She sighed. Trying to reason with this man would never work, she quickly realized. He was clearly just another lowlife stuck here on the Citadel, with no credits to top up the fuel on his ship, and thus spent his evenings drinking and wasting time and the remainder of his funds on vice here in Chora's Den, waiting for someone to come along and be extorted by his confusing dialect.

'Well... thanks anyway'

'No probs, lady quarian. You comes back to see ol' Jackie if you get them credits'

Rather than respond, she simply turned her head and walked away, back into the crowd. Jack watched her as she left, then turned and went back to his drinking.

It became very clear to Tali that leaving the Citadel would not be quite as straightforward as she had initially hoped. But then, neither had the last mission aboard the Normandy. She began going over the events in her head as she left the club…


End file.
